


The Symphony of a corrupted Heart

by JanaxIV



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Gen, M/M, Salieri hurts himself as penance, confused feelings, lot's of introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:27:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28522407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanaxIV/pseuds/JanaxIV
Summary: He had killed Mozart. Did he not deserve to suffer for it?
Relationships: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart | Caster/Antonio Salieri | Avenger
Kudos: 13





	The Symphony of a corrupted Heart

All warmth is so far from him, a long gone dream in this darkened room he has claimed for himself out of many in Chaldea’s base. It has been restored to its former glory, yet as far as he is concerned the place may as well still be encased in the frigid grip of Anastasia’s might. 

_ You’re pathetic. _

The words echo in his mind, having been said not too long ago or eons past, he doesn’t know. All he knows is the man who had said them was right. Towering over his broken form, eyes colder still than the room, the almost monstrous being had told him just what Salieri had already known to be correct. He was pathetic.

_ If you wish for absolution, seek it from that one. _

Absolution? What a joke. He could never be absolved of his sin, a sin he himself barely recalls truly committing, his very being muddled by rumours and say-so. But it had to be true. After all, did not all tellings hold at least the tiniest fragment of truth? So then, what other conclusion was there, but for it to be true?

He was Antonio Salieri. He was the Man in Grey. He was the one who killed Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. The prodigy, the greatest virtuoso of all ages, with skill sent by god himself to bring the heavenly choirs to mankind - a gift so few had been able to appreciate. 

_ And Salieri had brought his death. _

Be it by direct action or indirect schemes there was no denying that fact. The fact that he was a monster, who cut down this blessing unto the world, cruelly, selfishly… How could he have dared? 

His thoughts are interrupted by a blinding streak of light, harshly ripping through the dark around him, causing him to pull the thin cloth covering him closer over his form. His eyes widen at the person in the doorframe, their shadow falling over him and making him shrink into himself. Why...Why was it  _ him  _ of all people to find Saleri? Pressing his eyes shut, he can see in his mind how noble, angelic features twist into a mask of disgust, he can imagine the other leaving - yet none of it comes true.

“...Antonio?”

Just his name. So simple, so small - but the voice, oh that accursed most beautiful voice of all drives a blade through his heart and drags an inhuman whine from his throat, making him shudder.  _ Leave, please leave, you of all should not witness this -! _

The room falls back into darkness, yet he can hear gentle steps close in on him and then - suddenly the man’s scent surrounds him and warm floods him like a tidal wave, thin cotton replaced by rich silk. As he gazes up, his breath catches in his throat, fingers numb from the cold curling into the fabric of a multicoloured coat. His own voice is raw when he finally musters the courage to speak, cracking like rocks grinding together, his whisper deafeningly loud between them.

“...Amadeus...You...you shouldn’t…”

A warm hand settles in his hair, slender, claw-like fingers slipping between sweaty strands and pushing them out of his face. He curses his inability to do anything but lay there, spellbound by a magic only the one across from him had.

“Shh… _ Antonio, mi caro amico... _ please...allow me.”

How can he deny Amadeus? Oh how could he ever, when each of the man’s words drips with heavenly nectar that he drinks in desperately. It’s not forgiveness, not absolution he craves. No...he craves to suffer for ever daring to lay a hand on the man next to him - yet there was no suffering any other could bestow upon him that could ever hurt as perfectly as this. No words could cut deeper than the sound of Amadeus' voice, no fire burn harsher than the touch of skilled hands. 

Onto this suffering...he can give himself, easily and willing. Amadeus did not have to know, could never know, how grateful Salieri was for this most wonderful of torture.


End file.
